Hope you're feeling better. Remember, I'm here if you need me.
Despite the awful way he left me, he kept in touch. He still messages every so often. But he’s been texting me a lot more since Dad died.
I drag in a breath and read the message again.
It’s sweet. And admittedly heartwarming. The kind of heartwarming I definitely need. I would love to allow myself the moment of reprieve that comes with knowing you have people there for you.
But I stop the feeling before it can take fruition.
It's nice of Chad to message and keep in touch the way he has, especially during this time. But I have to remember I'm not his problem anymore.
I knew he felt bad when he dumped me, and maybe he really did think he was doing what was best for both of us. But sometimes, I just wish he’d leave me alone.
I thought he would eventually. But every couple of months, he’ll text or email.
In the beginning, he sent pictures of Australia—sunburnt beaches, kangaroos in the morning mist, the life he built without me.
He became a wildlife cinematographer. WhenNational Geographicoffered him a filming contract on the Great Barrier Reef, he used to share footage from his drafts, knowing I’d appreciate it. But as the years went by, he stopped.
Sometimes I’d check his socials. But I stopped early last year, when I found a picture of him and his new girlfriend kissing on Instagram.
She was pretty. Prettier and less stuck-up than the other women I’d seen him with. And she didn't look like her life was a mess. Not like me.
So, I guess he made the right choice.
While I'm grateful for the olive branch he's always extending me, I have to decline the offer, because no, he can’t be there for me.
I stopped needing him years ago. I accepted that I had to be strong, move on, and remember he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore.
At first, it was hard. Chad broke me when he left. I’d known him since I was five, and he was my first everything. But I did it. I moved on. I may not have had a serious relationship since him, but I moved on.
I always message back straightaway, but this time, I won't.
My life's about to change again, and I don’t want Chad to be a part of it.
Although my marriage to Knox is a façade, and not real to me, it's real on paper.
When the dust settles, I’ll tell Chad I’m getting married. That’ll probably be the last message I ever send him.
I don’t owe him anything. But I don’t want him finding out from the press, who will be all over me the second word gets out that Knox and I are together. They talk about the Vales like they’re the Kennedys or the Bransons. Getting married to the eldest son is going to bebignews.
I set the phone back down on the table and stare at the clock on the wall.
It’s almost ten thirty.
I should stop painting now, especially since I’m pleased with what I’ve done so far.
I also need to rest. I've been at this all day.
A glass of sweet wine and a long hot bath with my favorite oils will hit the spot to end the day. Then I'll head to bed and think about tomorrow.
I pack up my paint and put everything away.
Just as I grab the bottle of Pinot Noir from the cabinet, the phone rings.
It rings out loudly and vibrates even louder against the table.
With a frown, I walk over to check it. Anger claws at me when I seethatnumber again. The number from Knox’s people. Orhim.
